Cold Cash And Colder Hearts
by sugaredkiwi
Summary: Set post DMC2 and after Doomsday?. Dante gets into some trouble and who should show up to yank him out of a crack but his loony of a twin brother?


**Author's Notes: **This particular little ditty is set in the same universe as my story _Doomsday?_, found right here on good ol' . Vergil's still crazy, Dante's still grumpy, and Trish is opting to pretend neither one exists for this one.

Written as an unofficial response for the 30_deaths community on livejournal, where, instead of literal death, I opted for figurative deaths. This is for prompt thirty-four (optional) - Judgement. :D?

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When he woke, it was with a great throbbing in his head, beating a painful tattoo with his thudding heart. Dante had no idea who could have gotten the jump on him like that, but he aimed to find out. He'd only stepped out to walk around to the corner store, having made it out of eyeshot of Devil May Cry, when the whole world had gone white, and then black, when something had cracked him in the back of the head.

He moved to reach up and finger the knot that had surely formed under his hair, when he realized that not only did his arms not cooperate, but that he was bound, ankles and wrists, to a straightback chair. That was interesting. It gave him pause a moment, before he tried the bindings of his wrists; they were tight as it was, but the tugging only made them tighter. _Slipknots_. It wasn't a pleasant thought, and the tingle where the rope rubbed against his skin told him whoever had done it had known what they were doing; the ropes were blessed, but not strongly enough to cause full blown holy damage.

He blamed Vergil. He did. Despite the fact that his brother was relatively harmless at that point (despite his nightly attempted molestation of his younger twin), he was sure that before his fall Vergil had pissed off a good number of people. And, really, from what he'd had to do with Vergil before all of that shit with the tower, he knew Vergil hung around even more unsavory sorts than Dante himself had; Vergil's only dressed better. So, in his estimation, things like this were Vergil's fault. And when he got out of there - and he didn't question that he would, he _was_ Dante, after all - he was going to beat Vergil bloody because it would make him feel better.

He tried the ropes again, wondering if the blessing laid on them was weak enough for him to still snap them. It would put a hurting on his wrists, but he was a big boy and could take it. He wasn't even _armed_; well, that wasn't entirely true. He had tricks up his sleeves, but as far as his typical weapons, he was without both guns and sword. He hadn't even been dressed for work, clad in worn jeans and a simple dark buttondown shirt (that belonged to Vergil), undone to midway down his chest, revealing the white t-shirt underneath. For God's sake, he'd been hopping down to the store for beer, not out cruising for something to hurt.

Vergil was so dead when Dante got his hands on him.

He became preoccupied with the ropes binding his wrists, straining at the shoulders to force it to snap, when the one door, as far as he could tell, in the dusty, dimly-lit room swung open, revealing two figures in silhouette. One was short and round, the other tall and thin, and for a moment he marveled at the fact that not only had they clobbered him unconscious, they'd dragged him to wherever the hell he was and tied him up with blessed rope besides.

"Yo." His voice was amazingly calm, even in his current predicament. "If this is about that fucking loony I call a brother, I got nothing to do with it. So how about we do the smart thing and you let me go before things have to get real ugly, you dig?" His eyes narrowed as he spoke, and he let them start to darken, black lines like veins squiggling up his face frantically before he halted it in that weird, halfway point between man and demon.

He was answered with a laugh and a puff of cigar smoke, as the round one came forward. "You hear that, Sal? I think he's threatening us." Another laugh, reedy and broken, followed, and the taller and thinner of the two moved into the room, sweeping off, Dante swore, an honest to God fedora. Looking between them, he decided they looked like casting rejects from a bad gangster movie. And with a name like Sal? That sealed it.

"Think I might wet my pants, Lou." Lou and Sal. What a fucking pair. And at that, Dante ceased to take it seriously. They'd known what he was, but there was no way, in his mind, that it was going to end with anything other than Dante clanking their heads together and leaving to beat the shit out of his brother. Oh, he knew. He did. Vergil had had dealings with the mafia before his fall, and he swore to God if it was about that, he was going to be _very displeased_.

Lou tapped his cigar to the side, knocking ashes onto the floor. "They told me you was a special one, but I never figured it was 'cause you're _stupid_." He pointedly ignored Dante's dramatic eyeroll, as the white haired man worked on the knots at his wrists in silence, his mouth firmly kept shut. He wasn't going to smart off about that. He wasn't. "'Course, I see why the boss wanted you and not that retard brother a'yours. Shame about him, by the way. Fact, I heard he can barely feed himself, ain't that right, Sal?"

They ignored the warning growl that had started in the back of Dante's throat.

"Damn shame. I 'member when he was still all there." Sal tapped the side of his head. "Well, maybe not all there, but not a droolin' retard." That was when Sal moved closer to Dante, dragging another chair from the shadows and putting its back to the half demon before straddling it and propping his fedora on the back. "'Course, I also heard there's times he ain't so drooly. I heard there's times he's just like he was before."

If they'd noticed the fact that Dante's eyes had gone completely red on black, they were either stupid themselves, or just didn't care. And what really got Dante - really got him - was how they knew. Vergil, in his clear states (which were few and far between) had never even left the shop. It made him uneasy. And the big question was iwhy/i they cared. He knew the mob had a long memory - they still had hits on himself to that day - but enough so that they _knew_ how relatively harmless Vergil was? Why bother with Dante? Because he was mentally competent and his brother was not? He couldn't say. It didn't matter, because his hands worked as furiously on the knots as they could. He was getting loose; he wasn't scared, but he didn't feel like sitting around with a couple of bumbling retards all day when all he'd wanted was a beer.

"Well. That's very special of you." It came out blandly, as Dante rolled his eyes once more, the effect more disturbing with the strange, inverted coloring. "But the fact is, I don't care. I don't! If you have a problem with him, I suggest you take it up with him, since you seem to know what's happening with him so goddamn well."

"Oh, but it ain't you we want." Lou smiled, revealing gold capped teeth. Fucker was tacky, and that was all Dante was going to say on the matter. "You're just the bait, kid. He'll come looking. And when he does, we'll be waitin'."

"Oh, yeah?" Dante almost laughed outright at that. Because if they got him while Vergil was having one of his drooly fits, he'd drive them insane. Dante knew that from plently of experience. For a moment, he had a mental image of his brother shuffling in, that stupid strainer on his head (that Trish had given him in the effort to save tinfoil with all the hats Vergil had made out of the stuff), with his bag of sugar and lollipop that had become a staple of Vergil's appearance. It kept him docile, which was why it was ever present. That, and Dante knew that even then, they both had one bitch of a sweet tooth. That, too, almost made him laugh. It was absurd! It was. It was absolutely and absurdly hysterical that there he was, tied up by the mafia as bait for the brother who could barely tie his own shoelaces. What they were expecting to accomplish, Dante couldn't guess.

Of course, if they got Vergil while he was clear of mind...Dante inwardly winced at that. Honorable? To the bone, Vergil was. Did that make him any less brutal? Not a bit. Dante swore to God in times before, and in moments like those in the present, ice water pumped through his brother's veins, not blood. He was a cold-hearted son of a bitch. (And in all honestly, considering the current situation, Dante couldn't say he'd have wanted it any other way, even if the likelyhood of Vergil helping _him_ out of his bind was slim to none.)

"I gotta wonder if you're not the dumb ones." A corner of Dante's mouth pulled up at the end, revealing one overly long canine, as his eyes faded back to blue. "You really think, even in his most _retard_ moments, he's a big enough dumbass to fall for that? Pfft." He felt the rope around one wrist go slack, and while that boosted his confidence just a tad, he started just as furiously on the other. Blessed the ropes were, but the blessing was weak, and fading by the moment. He wondered if they realized it.

"Apparently you don't remember my brother that well at _all_." Why, yes, Dante had puffed up a bit of that, much as he would have done when he was younger when Vergil acted like he was half worth a damn. It had never been often, but there had been times when being Vergil's brother had been a blessing, not a burden. Now, he was beginning to think, would be one of those times. "You do realize if he comes here you're gonna die, right? Even, aheh, in his 'drooly' moments, he knows how to handle himself."

Did he ever. Dante still had bite marks from a week before to prove it. And when he was three sheets to the wind with crazy, he didn't give a damn about honor, either.

The second rope fell slack around his wrist, about the time the door that had shut behind both mobsters flew inward from its hinges, and Dante didn't need to glance up to know who it was. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on Sal, that grin widening further across his face. Sal had twisted around to see what it was, as had Lou, and paid no mind.

Only when his wrists slipped completely free of the ropes did Dante glance in that direction himself, starting from a familiar pair of brown, buckled boots, up to that electropine hairdo that never seemed to be quite as neat anymore as it had in days past. "Gee, thanks for showing up, Verg. Your surprise party, after all."

Vergil paid none of them any mind at first, not even the guns that lowered their sights on him as he stood in the doorway, pulling the blade of Yamato through his fingers with the frigidness of an iceberg. It was calm and contemplative, the small action, but cold all the same, before it was dropped in the sheath as though he wouldn't need it. His fingers ran along the wall as he stepped inside, leaving a trail of blood, and he focused beyond the guns to Dante, even as they clicked into readiness. "Traffic." It was said blandly, before he even acknowledged the other two.

"Clever, really. One always looks forward to receiving a gift of their brother's blood by courier."

"Hey." It was Lou that spoke, and Dante had to admit that he was impressed with the lack of fear or nervousness in the man's voice. And it worried him, as well, because it meant they still had an ace up their sleeves. But, then again, so did he, as he started to make quick work of the ropes around his ankles, feeling the blood tingling in his fingers as some of the numbness left them. "Long time no see, Vergil. Heard you took an extended vacation in...Ah, a warmer climate."

Vergil didn't flinch, which Dante supposed was a good thing. God only knew he didn't want him to flip out about that in the cramped, dimly lit room.

"Heard a lot of things," Sal picked up in the silence, though Dante, ankles untied, noticed the slight tremble of the gun in his hands. "Boss ain't happy with you, boyo."

"Oh, that's fine." It was said with the most pleasant smile; one that sent chills up Dante's spine as he watched Vergil swing his hands behind him. "He told me to bring you both a present." That was when a small bag (a bowling ball bag, in all actuality, Dante noticed) was presented, before being tossed their way. "Go on. I think you might enjoy it."

It was like a bad gangster movie. Dante looked between his brother and Lou and Sal, gauging. If he moved now, the likelyhood of Vergil taking one for the team was strong. Dante couldn't exactly say he'd be _upset_ with that outcome, but then he knew he'd have to listen to Vergil bitch. That was something he didn't want to deal with. If he waited, Vergil still had the likelyhood of taking one for the team, and would still bitch. As far as he could see, it was a lose-lose situation.

"Sal." Lou gestured with his gun for the taller man to pick up the bag, and he moved to comply, never taking his eyes off of Vergil. Vergil didn't move. He was up to something, and to Dante, it was written all over him. He just didn't know iwhat/i. The bag was lifted, and Dante heard the hum of the zipper being pulled back, before Sal let a little scream loose and dropped it and his gun. A moment after the bag landed, it was no mystery as to _why_; Dante knew the local mob boss, and he almost did a little dance and cheer routine for his brother when it was his head that rolled out.

"You son of a bitch," Lou said, his voice cracking (though whether it was fear or sadness, Dante couldn't guess), "you son of a bi-"

It was cut off, because as Dante supposed Vergil had hoped, they'd taken their eyes off of Vergil, and Vergil had swung. Lou looked surprised for a moment, and then the waterworks of red started, as his head slid right off his neck. And that was when Dante moved. He was a little slower than he'd have liked, considering the blessed ropes had done a little something (though not as much as they'd hoped), and his bloodflow was still a tad bit sluggish from the lack of circulation...And, true, he might have put just a _little_ too much force behind himself as he reached to grab Sal by the back of his thinning hair (the plan had been to slam his head into the wall), because his hand went _through_ Sal's head instead, and Dante felt it turn to pulp before the tall, thin man, minus most of his head, dropped to the floor.

Dante grimaced and shook his hand, before realizing the splatter had clung to his clothes - and remembered the shirt was actually Vergil's and hoped he wouldn't notice - before glancing up at Vergil, finding him once more serenely cleaning his blade with a small, humorless smile. "Took you fucking long enough."

"Stop whining." Blade cleaned, it was resheathed at his side. "Were you in any ireal/i danger, wibbler? I think not. Besides, I had other matters to attend to." It was punctuated with a dark, meaningful glance that sailed right over Dante's head.

"You have got to be fucking joking. What 'other matters'," - it was said with finger quotes, Dante ignoring the gore on himself as best he could - "could a loony like you _possibly_ have."

"Did I tell you?" It was said with a raised eyebrow, as Vergil picked his way over like a pissy cat through the slaughter. Dante just glared in answer. As sad as it sounded, he was beginning to hate the moments when Vergil was clear of mind, because it served to remind Dante ijust/i what an asshole his twin could truly be. And it was a sad day when he preferred it when Vergil was red-and-black eyed and jumpy and taking dives through the air vents to _molest_ him at night to what he once was and was, for longer stretches at a time, becoming again.

"Whatever." And that was all Dante was going to say on the matter, as he went to wiping the gore from himself as best he could, making a disgusted face the whole while. "What the hell did you mean back then."

"One day, Dante will learn to be more specific and stop expecting his poor, overtaxed elder brother to read his mind." Vergil dug through a pocket of his jacket and pulled out, of all things when Dante glanced in his direction, a lollipop before pulling off the wrapper and sticking it in his mouth, as though he weren't surrounded by gore of his own making.

That in itself stopped him from snapping Vergil's head off, because it was so surreal to see.

"...The blood, you asshole. What did you mean about getting blood delivered."

The lollipop was removed and waved to and fro a moment, as Vergil rolled his eyes. "Oh, _that_," he said, as though Dante were retarded for even beginning to wonder over it. "It seems, little brother, while you were out cold, they mopped you up and sent the leavings to the very offices of that rag tag business you run. By courier. Honestly, have they no sense?" Vergil paused a moment, before adding, "Pity for them that they used a courier service they had a hand in the pocket of. I'm afraid it no longer exists, either."

Dante just gaped at him. "Jesus, Vergil." It hadn't even occurred to Dante until then to question _just_ how many people he'd slaughtered on his way there, though it was becoming more and more apparent by the moment. And, of course, Vergil was absolutely pristine, as though he'd done nothing. He'd always been like that; he could kill an astronomical amount of people, and never have a speck of blood on him. In truth, Dante was just a _little_ jealous of that fact.

The lollipop was shoved back in Vergil's mouth, before he moved to pick up Sal's gun, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he did so. "Oh, why I expect the mafia to have honor, I will never guess." It didn't change the fact that Vergil discharged the clip with an expert efficiency, before plucking one of the bullets from it.

There was no disguising the fact that the pads of Vergil's fingers started smoking, though if it really pained him, he gave no sign, and instead held it up for Dante's inspection. "Isn't that cute? Blessed bullets. Strongly so. Their 'ace in the hole'." He tossed the bullet, gun, and clip aside with a mock-heavy sigh. "I honestly hope they weren't _banking_ on that, for we very well see what it got them."

And that was when Dante found himself under the same piercing scrutiny the gun had, and it made him inwardly squirm. Vergil had a way, when he was clear of mind like that, of looking right through a person, as though he could see every little thing about them, every little infraction they might have committed. He supposed it was the crazy that had eaten up the elder twin's brain long before he'd ever taken his big plunge into Hell.

"What." He refused to let that nervousness show, though. It wasn't worth what it would bring to do so. Letting Vergil know he was uncomfortable was like putting a 'kick me' sign on his back, and he wasn't feeling up to that shit. "Fucking stop staring at me, you loony."

"...Is that my shirt?" And there Dante had been hoping he wouldn't notice. "Oh, little brother, I hope and _pray_ you have decided to sully the color blue all on your own and did not _steal_ an article of clothing from me, because there will be blood. There will be death. There will be _tears_ and suffering."

Dante simply answered with a tight-lipped smile. "About the same way Trish is gonna react when she finds out you stole her black dress, huh?"

It, at least, got the reaction he was hoping for, as Vergil's face - pale on a normal basis - went practically transparent. "I have no idea to what you refer."

Of course he didn't.

"Uh huh, of course not. Let's get out of here." He started out of the door, leaving Vergil to follow behind.

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Fin! Reviews are lovely.


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